


Serpents and Flares

by Ravenclaw_Reyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Daily Prophet, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, F/M, Falling In Love, Harry Potter - Freeform, Love, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Mild Smut, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Quidditch, Rita Skeeter - Freeform, Romance, Wizarding World (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclaw_Reyes/pseuds/Ravenclaw_Reyes
Summary: When Coralie runs into Draco Malfoy in a muggle pub a few years after the Battle of Hogwarts, she finds a Draco nothing like the one she remembers from school, in desperate need of healing.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: mild smut, brief mentions of domestic abuse and panic attacks

_I need to finish that article about the Cannon’s strategy for this season by Friday at the latest. Oh, and I need to set up an interview with the Harpies’ new keeper. Shit, what was her name again?_

 

My increasingly extensive to-do list rattles around in my brain as I walk tiredly down a sidewalk on the outskirts of London, still several blocks from home. It had been a long day at the Prophet and I’m desperately looking forward to a hot cup of tea in the comfort of my own home.

_Or maybe something a little stronger,_ I think to myself as I focus on the dingy old tavern to my right. I’ve walked past the same little pub so many times, but it’s never occurred to me to enter until today. As a child I was taught by my father not to ignore the little inklings in life, as they can lead to some of the best stories. Not that this is the sole reason for me pushing through the faded red door, a bell tinkling over my head. It’s more so that I don’t actually have anything better to do today. And after the day I’ve had I could use a stiff one.

I briefly take in my surroundings. There are a few patrons scattered amongst the tables, and a handful or so sitting at the bar. A few of them are chatting quietly to each other, while the others focus on the task at hand. A cheerful fiddle tune plays lightly in the background. I approach the bar and hop into a vacant barstool next to a lone blonde, settling my briefcase on my lap. 

“What can I get for ye?”

The bartender is a gruff looking older man with kind eyes. “I’ll take a Jameson and Ginger,” I tell him. While he makes my drink I continue looking around the bar. It’s a little dingy, but cozy. I cast a glance at the patron next to me. I’m both shocked when I recognize the face and surprised that the hair didn’t give him away sooner. “Draco Malfoy, is that you?”

He looks over at me, startled. It’s only been a few years but he looks like he’s aged twice that. He looks… worn, I guess, is the way to put it. “Hello,” he says, surpised. “Erm, do I know you?”

“Sorry,” I say. “That was a little weird of me. No, you probably don’t. But we went to school together. I actually played you in Quidditch a few times.”

“Oh. Well I’m sorry,” he says, he says, his voice gruff as he looks down at the pint in front of him.

“Oh no, it’s really no big deal,” I say as the bartender places my drink in front of me. “I was a few years younger, I don’t expect you to know who I am.”

He looks over at me, his brows knit with confusion. “Were you not at the battle then?”

“No… I was,” I say slowly, taking a sip. 

“Well usually when I run into former classmates they don’t have too many nice things to say,” he says bitterly. “It’s not like I made it much of a secret, who’s side I was on. Forgive me for assuming you’re here to hold me accountable.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what this is about,” I respond, feeling strangely defensive. “I’m just surprised to see you hear is all. I didn’t take you for one to be hanging about in muggle pubs,” I explain.

“No one knows me here,” he says. He takes a sip of his ale before adding, “Usually anyways.”

I nod, considering what he just said. I guess it makes sense that not everyone was as forgiving as the ministry had been. “Well I’m sorry to ruin your track record.”

I return my focus to my drink, but I see him smirk out of the corner of my eye. Seeing him here in his worn black sweater, years after the fact, makes him seem like an entirely different person. Much less intimidating, but… sadder. It’s a little heart breaking. But then again, I had never shared the same hatred that most of my classmates felt for him.

I’m not sure what else to say, so a few moments pass in silence. He’s the one to break it. “I don’t think I caught your name,” he says cautiously.

“Coralie Moncrief,” I tell him.

“Nice to meet you,” he says. He switches his focus between his drink, the wall behind the bar, the bartender, anywhere but directly at me. I see dark circles beneath his eyes in the rushed glances I throw his way. “You said we played Quidditch together, yeah?”

“Here and there,” I say. My brain immediately recalls one of my first matches. I was only a second year, but I made the team as a chaser thanks to my dad’s training all summer. But in those first few matches, I was scared shitless. In my first match against Slytherin, I took a Bludger to the rib cage. It knocked me off my broom, and once I regained my focus after hitting the ground, I saw a flash of green come to a pause somewhere above. The pale hair gave him away, as he was pretty well known to everyone at Hogwarts. He only paused for a moment, as if making sure I was okay, or at least not dead, before returning to his search for the Snitch. I remember being surprised that Draco Malfoy of all people broke his focus for even a moment to make sure that a second year from another house hadn’t fallen to her death. Maybe that was the reason I had a hard time believing that he was the cold blooded death eater everyone made him out to be.

“I was in Ravenclaw,” I clarify. 

“I think you might look vaguely familiar,” he says. 

Another quiet moment passes. “So what have you been up to lately?”

He looks at me now, like he’s unsure how to answer. I get the feeling that he hasn’t taken part in many friendly conversations recently. “Not much,” he allows. He casts a furtive glance at the bartender to make sure he’s out of ear shot and lowers his voice even more when he speaks. I find that I have to lean in slightly just to hear him. He’s returned to focusing on the pint glass in front of him. “Not many people are interested in hiring a Malfoy, I’m afraid. I’ve been working in the Department of Mysteries. Not much goes on in there anymore, but I reckon the Ministry placed me there so I’d be out of view.”

I feel my brows furrow. Wow. I realize that I hadn’t really thought much about Draco since the war, let alone what his life would be like in the wake of so much horror. Even though we were never friends, and hardly even acquaintances, I can’t help but feel bad. “Well do you like it at all?” I ask. 

He scoffs, and looks over at me like surely I must be kidding. I shrug, feeling self-conscious. “I can’t say I know enough about the Department of Mysteries to assume,” I explain.

“Well I don’t mind the privacy,” he admits. “But the work is rather dull.”

Yet another silent moment passes. I take a deep breath before I continue. “Look Draco, I know this isn’t my place to say and I don’t mean to assume that I know the first thing about you or your life,” I say cautiously. I have his full attention now. He’s looking me right in the eye, his own piercing blue eyes making me lose my train of thought for a moment. They look intense, and afraid of what I might say, like here comes the blame that he’s been waiting for. I regain my train of thoughts before I continue. “I know it’s easier said than done, but fuck what everyone else thinks,” I spit out. It’s rushed, like if I don’t get it out now I’ll lose my nerve. “You can only do so much about what other people want to think. Maybe it’s time to focus on forgiving yourself.”

My words hang thick in the air while he continues to hold our gaze. I have no idea who I am to be giving him any sort of advice. But seeing him so…… defeated, I had to say something. The Draco I knew at school was terrifying, to be honest. But he always so sure of himself, larger than life. While this Draco was slightly more approachable, it was heartbreaking. Sure, he made his fair share of mistakes. Bad ones. But he had clearly done his time beating himself up over them. I couldn’t just stay quiet.

I’m the one who breaks eye contact, grabbing my glass and taking a large swig in an attempt to dull the awkwardness. “You’re the first person to tell me something like that,” he says, his voice strained. I know that I’ve hit a nerve. But then his voice hardens. “Why?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“I mean, why don’t you blame me?” he asks defensively. “You’d be right to. Why are you acting concerned about my well-being or some shit like that?”

I take a deep breath. I was at the Battle of Hogwarts. The whole thing was a terrifying blur, and I saw things that I never could have imagined. I still wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat after having nightmares about seeing the bodies of my classmates laid out in the great hall. Some I knew, some I didn’t. I was fortunate that none of my close friends were among them, but seeing something like that doesn’t ever really leave you. It resonates in a way I can’t describe. But I also remember standing in the courtyard, all of us across from the Dark Lord when he demanded that we join him or die. I stood there, frozen and in denial, because how could it have come to this? Then I heard a woman, who I assumed was Draco’s mother, call his name. I looked around, shocked that he was still with us at all. I mean, why would he be?

When I spotted him, I was even more surprised to see him standing stationary. His face looked terrified, trying to decide if he should step forward. It wasn’t until his mother called him again, her pain audible in her voice, that he cautiously crossed the courtyard and into the arms of the Dark Lord. That was the last time I saw him.  
But in the aftermath of the battle, when I was back home with my parents, sitting up all night because sleep provided nightmares too vivid and too soon for me to cope with, that I remembered a detail from a couple years before. I had snuck out of the common room late one night to meet up with my boyfriend at the time, a Hufflepuff. While I walked quietly to our decided rendezvous point, I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall. I nearly shat myself, assuming it was Filch who had always terrified me more than most, and jumped behind the nearest column. My small frame tucked into the shadow safely, but I could still see out into the corridor. It wasn’t Filch after all. It was Draco, rushing along the hall, glancing behind him every so often. In the light of the torches I could see tears glistening all down his face, which was distorted with emotion. Once he disappeared, I continued on my adventure, too enamored with the excitement of a new relationship to spend much time worrying about the strange behaviors of a student that I didn’t even know. It was later that year that Dumbledore was murdered and the stories started spreading as quickly as the darkness. Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater? How dare he betray Dumbledore that way? But during those sleepless nights after the battle, I pieced the memories together and drew my own conclusions. It became hard to believe that Draco was acting out of hatred, or any true belief in the Dark Lord’s ways. Was it fear? Was it something he was born into, and felt incapable of stopping? I figured I’d never know. But after those initial weeks of terror, I began to piece myself back together, pushing the memories out of my mind as best I could. I all but forgot about Draco Malfoy.

“Because, I think that placing all the blame on you would be closed-minded and unfair,” I say finally, staring straight ahead. When he doesn’t respond, I take another sip and turn my head to look at him. “Yeah, you made some shitty decisions. You don’t need me to tell you that. But from what I’ve heard it doesn’t sound like you had much choice in the matter. I can’t imagine being in your place. It’s not fair to blame you for the hand you were dealt. All of that horribleness that happened was going to happen with or without your help. You’re not Voldemort. But it’s easier for people to center the blame on someone they know,” I say. I’m talking so fast that I’m running out of breath, so I take a second to inhale. “Again, I might not know what I’m talking about at all, but I have a hard time believing that what you did was out of pure malice. I feel like the circumstances you were under made it difficult to be on the right side. And sure, you did some really shitty things. You fucked up. But to me it seems like you’ve spent more than enough time hating yourself for it. And what is the point of learning lessons as hard as that if you aren’t going to move forward?”

He’s still staring at me intently, his brows furrowed together. “You don’t know me,” he says, bewildered. I nod. Then I down the rest of my drink and grab money out of my briefcase and put it on the bar.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

I hop off the bar stool and turn to leave. Just before I’m out of range, I feel his hand grasp my arm. “Wait, I’m sorry,” he says. I slowly turn back to him and he releases his grip. “I’m just… surprised, is all,” he says. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not used to people saying things like you just did. You caught me off guard.”

I nod. “I’m sorry, it’s not my business,” I say. 

“Maybe not,” he says. “But it was good to hear all the same. If only it was as easy as all that.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” I reply. I stand there awkwardly for a moment. 

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, gesturing to my vacated barstool. I nod, returning to my seat. He gestures to the bartender to make me another. We’re quiet as we watch him pour my drink. After I take a sip Draco breaks the silence. “So what’s the briefcase for?”

“I write for the Daily Prophet,” I answer.

I see him visibly tense up. “No, no,” I say, realizing what I’ve said. “I’m the Quidditch reporter. I go to games and conduct interviews and write the reports. Things of that sort.”

“Oh,” he says. “That sounds like a pretty great job.”

“It can be stressful,” I admit. “But I like it.” I lean over and jokingly add “Be awfully hard to write a report on you, as much as I’m talking.”

He laughs, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it. “Are you always so opinionated?”

“I have my moments,” I shrug. “Really though, I’m sorry I overstepped. It’s not like I know enough to talk.”

He sighs. “It’s okay. I’m glad it’s not public knowledge. It’s not exactly a pretty story.”

“Well, if you ever get around to wanting to tell it, I’m sure I’ll be around,” I say before finishing off my drink. “I really should get going though. Thank you for the drink.:

He nods. “My pleasure. Have a good night.”

“You too,” I say, giving him a small smile. I feel his gaze on my back as I make my way to the door, entering the cool night.


	2. Chapter Two

I’m sitting on my couch with my cat Grizelda staring at me. It’s Saturday, and I finished my report on the Canons and no longer had the deadline looming over my head, so I’ve spent the day making use of my free time. Doing absolutely nothing.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

I’ve spent the last two hours slowly making myself look presentable, and fighting with myself on whether or not I would go to the pub. A little makeup here… change my mind and return to the couch. Curl my hair… tap out again. I’m beginning to feel as though Grizelda is getting tired of my shit. Hell, I’m getting tired of my shit. There is no reason I shouldn’t go enjoy a couple of drinks on a Saturday night. I’ve also spent the past few hours trying to convince myself that a nice pint is the only reason I’m interested in paying a visit to the pub, like I haven’t spent the past week thinking about the blonde boy at the bar.

_Fuck it._

I make my final move off the couch and cross my little studio apartment to my wardrobe, and pull out a black pencil skirt, a charcoal cable knit sweater, and burgundy thigh-high socks. Once I get dressed I step into my worn, brown leather shoes. I glance myself over in my full length mirror. My long, mahogany hair has fallen since I styled it hours ago, and is falling in loose waves down my shoulders. My makeup isn’t anything to get excited about, but brings out my green eyes. I look good, but not like I’m trying too hard. _Cool._

I grab my purse look back at Grizelda. “Happy?”

She meows back at me, then returns to daintily licking her paws. I leave my apartment and hurry down the stairs and into the cool night. It’s a few minutes before sunset, and there’s a crisp breeze in the air. _I should probably start figuring out what I’m wearing to the Prophet’s Halloween party,_ I think to myself. It only takes me a few minutes to walk the couple of blocks and enter the cozy pub. I glance down the length of the bar, my heart sinking a bit when he’s not there. _No shit. It’s not like he bloody lives here._ I walk past where a band is setting up their equipment and take a seat at the very end of the bar.

“Can I get a vodka soda?” I ask the bartender, the same old man who was behind the bar last time. 

“Coming right up,” he responds.

When I hear the door’s bell ring I glance over my shoulder, disappointed to see a scruffy looking man with a beard down to his belt come through the door. I sigh a little, irritated with myself for acting like such an idiot.

“He’ll be along in a bit,” the bartender says as he slides my drink over to me.

“Sorry?” I ask.

“That blonde fellow you were chatting with the last time you was in here,” he says. “He’s been in here every day since. Lookin’ over his shoulder jus’ like you.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Good to know.”

The bartender moves along to see to the bearded man down the bar and I take a few deep sips. _Has Draco Malfoy really been looking for me?_ The thought is almost too ridiculous to believe. I lose myself in my own thoughts, absent-mindedly stirring my drink. After a few minutes I hear the band start to tune up somewhere behind me, and then,

“I was hoping you’d make your way back in here.”

I turn around quickly to see Draco standing behind me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis. “Is that so?” I say as nonchalantly as I can manage. 

He gestures to the stool next to me. “Mind if I take a seat?”

“Go right ahead,” I say, turning back to the bar. The bartender throws a little smirk my way as he approaches us. 

“What can I get for ye?”

“I’ll take a Johnny Walker. Neat.”

“And I’ll have another,” I say, finishing off my first round. “Make it a double please.”

Draco glances over at me. “Long week?”

I shrug, “Possibly.”

We fall silent for a moment, but it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as it was the last time around. It’s more of a companionable silence. “So I’ve been thinking a lot,” he says. “About what you said the last time.”

I look over at him, eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

He nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I think it was something I needed to hear. I never thought of it that way, you know? And I can’t quite see it the way you do. I can’t quite forgive myself the way you seem to. Who knows, it might take years. Decades, even. But I want to try. What you said it was… kind of a wake up call, I suppose.”

“Well I’m glad I could make you see it,” I say. I hesitate for a second before reaching out, placing my hand on his forearm that’s resting on the bar. “You deserve happiness, Draco. No matter what anyone else thinks.”

He looks at me, his icy eyes filled with emotion I never imagined possible for him. “Thank you,” he murmurs. I squeeze his arm before withdrawing my hand, placing it back on my own section of the bar as our drinks arrive.

“The problem is,” he says, pausing to take a thoughtful sip of his whiskey. “I have no idea how to do it.”

“Well, I’d be more than happy to help you brainstorm,” I tell him. He smiles a little.

Then he sighs. “The thing is, when I look back on it, it’s still confusing,” he admits. “It’s not that I didn’t know it was all wrong. It’s like… I wasn’t allowed to admit it, not even to myself.”

I’m quiet while he pauses, running a hand through his hair. “I was just raised on that kind of horse shit, ya know? Once I got older, it didn’t exactly sit right with me but I didn’t feel like there was a choice in the matter. Maybe I was a little brainwashed. I don’t know. It doesn’t make it right though.”

“But it has to count for something that you didn’t do it out of malice,” I say softly. 

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

I hesitate before asking my next question. “Do you still talk to your parents much?”

He takes a deep breath. “Not really,” he sighs. “I can’t hate them. But I’m not comfortable with them either. It’s a little better with my mum. I make a little effort, mostly for her sake. I check in here and there. But it’s still hard to be around them.”

He takes a much larger sip this time, and I follow suit. “Maybe a little space isn’t the worst thing,” I suggest. “Maybe once you’ve had some time to sort things out, focus on yourself, then you can rebuild a relationship with him. If you want to, that is.”

“It’s hard to imagine,” he says, slamming the rest of his drink and gesturing to the bartender for another. 

I decide to change the subject. “Well what kind of stuff do you like to do? Maybe try doing more of it. That’s got to be a good place to start, right?”

“I mean, I like Quidditch but it would be a little hard to get a team willing to play with me so I reckon that one’s out the window,” he tells me. “Mostly I read. Write a little. Doesn’t involve people.”

I feel my heart break for him, yet again. “Well maybe focus on that?” I suggest. “And maybe try to get out more? Even just places like this. Muggle places where you don’t have to worry about being recognized. I could even go with you.”

Again, that little sideways smile. “I’d like that.”

“Well then cheers,” I say, raising my glass to his refilled one. “To fresh starts.”

“Cheers,” he agrees, his smile a little bigger, moving to both sides of his face.

As the night continues, the drinks keep coming. The band has started playing to a mostly empty room, but it cheers up the evening. It doesn’t take long before Draco is laughing, actually laughing at some of my more ridiculous stories about my years at Hogwarts and some of my less tolerable coworkers. He matches them with his own stories, including his one or two interactions with Rita Skeeter. “Well, I suppose she’s nothing but consistent,” I laugh. “Good to know it’s the same on the other side.”

He raises his eyebrows, an incredulous grin spread across his face. “Okay, maybe not good,” I concede. He laughs a little more.

“You know, this band isn’t at all bad,” I comment. “It’s a shame no one’s paying them any attention.”

An idea pops into my head, though the thought may be slightly vodka induced. “We should change that.”

“How so?”

I wiggle my eyebrows conspiratorially before calling the bartender over. “Can we get two carbombs please?”

“What in the hell are you doing?” Draco laughs. I finish off the rest of my drink before responding.

“Drink up Malfoy,” I say, gesturing to what remains of his own beverage. “Because we’re going to take these shots, and the next song they play, we’re going to dance.”

“Are you out of your bloody mind,” he asks me, baffled by the suggestion. “No one else is dancing.”

“So?” I ask. “You don’t know anyone here.”

He glances around, looking for another excuse. “What if its not a good song?”

I roll my eyes. “Who cares? Maybe step one of feeling better is having a little fun. But I’m going out there with or without you. And would you really make me dance out there all by myself?” I ask, pouting and batting my eyelashes.

He laughs. “Maybe I prefer to watch.”

“Well that would not be very gentlemanly of you,” I accuse. 

The bartender presents us with two shot glasses and two half-filled pint glasses of Guinness. “Ready?” I ask him.

“For the shot? Yes,” he says. “But the dancing bit is still up for negotiation.” 

I drop the shot glass into the beer and toss my head back, chugging. The last gulp or so is the sweetest, and when I’m done I wipe my upper lip to rid myself of the beer mustache. I look over just as Draco finishes his. The bands rendition of Baba O’Reilly winds down in perfect timing. “You ready?” I ask.

“Ughhhhh” he moans dramatically, “We don’t even know what the song is.”

We’ve both turned enough in our barstools, almost completely facing each other. I grasp his forearm and raise my eyebrows. “Wait for iiiittt…..” 

I hear the first twangy guitar notes of Mary Jane’s Last Dance reverberate through the pub and jump up excited. “Oh this song is great come on!” I beg, sliding my hand down his forearm and clasping his hand. 

“You’re crazy!” he argues, but his grin is as wide as ever. 

“So what?” I ask, pulling him from his stool and to the dance floor. He makes a dramatic display of not wanting to have anything to do with this, but he follows. I take both of his hands and start swaying to the music. It takes him a moment, but he starts to follow suit. While he looks a little uncomfortable, he appears to be having fun. 

“I haven’t danced since the Yule Ball,” he says, leaning into my ear. 

“You’re not bad!” I say. “Just have fun!” 

I feel the last round starting to kick in as we move to the music. After a moment he pulls me closer, placing an arm around my waist. We start spinning in slow, awkward circles. Then he twirls me under his arm and dunks me, surprising me so much it takes me a second to return to the dance. I wouldn’t call our dancing good, by any means. But no part of me cares even the slightest. As the song slows we’re both breathing heavily. In the brief silence between songs he wraps both of his arms around my waist. I wrap one of my arms around his neck, and rest my other hand on his upper arm, which I have to admit feels considerably more muscular than I would have guessed. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

“Don’t mention it,” I say, thrown by the close proximity. The next song starts up, a slow song that I’m not familiar with. As we start to sway to the music, I cast a glance at the singer over Draco’s shoulder. The man winks at me as we continue to rotate in slow, steady circles. I wrap my other arm around his neck and rest my head against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart and the words to the song.

>   
>  _“Did you see the sparks filled with hope_  
>  That you are not alone  
>  ‘Cause someone’s out there, sending out flares.”   
> 

After a moment, I feel him pull away slightly. I lift my face to see what’s the matter, and see him looking at me intently. Then suddenly, his lips are on mine. The kiss is intense, but only lasts an instant before he pulls back, seemingly shocked by his own actions. His eyebrows pull together, and something flashes across his eyes. He turns around sharply, and heads back to the bar, leaving me stunned in the middle of the dance floor. After a second I follow after him, catching up as he leans against the bar, ordering another drink. “Draco, what’s wrong?”

He avoids eye contact, even as I lean on my side against the bar, trying to get in his line of vision. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says harshly, taking his whiskey and slamming it. 

“What do you mean?” I ask, bewildered and starting to feel more than a little hurt. 

He’s staring down at the bar, still avoiding looking at me. “I’m fucked up Coralie,” he says, pain audible in his voice. “And you’re so… good. It’s selfish of me to drag you into it. I can’t use you to patch myself up, especially when I don’t even know that it’s possible. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not dragging me into anything,” I protest. 

He shakes his head, frustrated. “Why are you doing this?”

I shrug. “Because I care about you,” I say, my voice small. He finally turns his head to look at me, his eyes swimming with emotion. I take a deep breath and lean in, kissing him gently on the lips. He hesitates for a moment before kissing me back, sweetly and deeply. He brings his hand to my cheek just before he pulls away. 

“I might never understand it,” he says quietly.

“Well I’ll have to make it my job to convince you,” I respond. “What do you say we get out of here?”

He waves over the bartender, “We’re ready to close out. They’re both on me.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” I protest, but he ignores me. After he pays the tabs, he takes me by the hand and leads me outside. It’s been dark for awhile now, but I don’t know exactly what time it is. All I know is that I’m not tired. I’m… electrified. “I’m not ready to go home yet,” I say, looking up at him.

“Would you want to hang out at my place for a bit?” he asks. 

“That sounds great,” I say. He glances around for a second and spots the nearest ally, leading me to it. 

“I live on the other side of the city,” he says. “It’s easier to apparate.”

A moment later, we’re standing in a loft apartment, somewhere in London. I look around, taking it in. Its spacious, with exposed walls and ceilings and old, worn flooring. But all the accessories are new and updated. It’s still only one room, but not nearly as cramped as my own apartment. In the far corner of the room, I see his bed and I nightstand elevated slightly on a wooden platform. On the wall near the couch is an absolutely massive bookshelf, packed completely full and with several stacks of books. In another corner I see a desk, littered with even more books and journals. Next to the desk is a large bird cage, with a black owl sleeping peacefully inside. It’s very cozy, more so than I would have expected.

“Would you like anything to drink?” he asks.

“Some water, if you don’t mind,” I say. I’m definitely feeling like it could be a difficult morning if I don’t begin to hydrate. I follow him over to the kitchen counter, where he’s filling two glasses of water. “Thank you,” I say, as he hands one of the glasses to me. 

“I’ve never actually had anyone over before,” he tells me. 

“It’s lovely,” I say, giving the apartment another glance. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Would you like to have a seat?” he asks, gesturing to the couch. We cross the room and take a seat on the comfortable sofa. 

“So was the dancing really so terrible?” I ask. 

He laughs. “No, I suppose not,” he admits. “In fact, I wish I was able to complain and prove you wrong. But I can’t.”

I laugh along with him. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t utterly traumatize you.”

“Not in the slightest,” he says softly, his face growing more serious. “Really, Coralie, thank you. You’re the first person I’ve really been around in years. I already feel… lighter.”

“Draco, you really don’t have to thank me,” I say, reaching out to grab his hand. “I’m happy to help, really, I am. But it’s not just that. I like… being around you.”

I’m even shocked with myself for admitting it out loud. But he smiles. “Well I’m happy to hear that,” he says. “It’s a bit embarrassing actually, but I’ve been hanging out there a bit too much lately, hoping I’d see you again.”

“So I heard,” I say, smiling. Then I sigh. “It’s probably getting late.”

He silently nods. Then he says quietly, “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t mean that in a… you know… kind of way,” he says, awkwardly when I don’t respond immediately.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t want to go either.” 

We’re both quiet for a minute before I break the silence. “Well,” I say. “I didn’t exactly plan on a sleepover so I’m afraid I’m unprepared. Do you have anything I can change into?”

“Right, of course,” he says, jumping up and crossing the room to his dresser. He returns with a white undershirt and a pair of emerald flannel pants. “The bathroom is right through there,” he tells me, gesturing to a door on the wall behind me. 

“Thank you,” I say, kissing him on the cheek before I turn to go change. As I change, I run through the night’s events. It’s nothing I could have ever anticipated, and they feel too good to be true. Not perfect, obviously, but every time I see a smile or hear a laugh from him, I begin to imagine how he could be somewhere down the road, actually happy. I emerge from the bathroom to find Draco sitting on the edge of his bed in a pair of black pajama pants and no shirt. Clearly he’s been getting a decent amount of exercise that he didn’t mention in his earlier list of hobbies. I set my own clothes on the arm of the couch, then take the few steps up onto the platform. 

Then I see the stark contrast on his forearm, the dark mark against his alabaster skin. I don’t know why it catches me so off guard. Of course he has one, they aren’t exactly removeable. But I guess I’ve never actually thought about it before. He notices my gaze lingering on his arm and abruptly reaches to grab a sweatshirt that’s hanging from his bed post. “Draco stop,” I say, walking over to him. “You don’t have to do that.”

I stand in front of him and place my hands on his shoulders. He sighs and looks up at me, allowing the sweatshirt to rest in his lap, covering the tattoo. “I hate it,” he says, his voice thick. “It’s like a constant reminder of what I’ve done.”

I stare into his eyes, wishing there was more I could do to erase the pain. I shake my head. “But that’s not who you are anymore. Your past doesn’t define you.”

I lean down to kiss him. As our lips meet, I feel a single tear drip down his face. When our lips pull apart I rest my forehead against his. “Let’s go to bed, huh?”

He nods. We climb into bed and he reaches across me to turn off the lamp. We lay on our sides, me curled up against him. His warmth radiates through me. I never imagined I could feel so comfortable in such a weird, unfamiliar situation. 

“Goodnight, Draco,” I whisper.

I feel him plant a gentle kiss on the back of my neck. “Goodnight.”


	3. Chapter Three

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

I have my arm laced through Draco’s as we ascend the large marble staircase. The portkey brought us to a large manor house somewhere in the country. A handful of my coworkers from the Prophet are milling about on the stairs, dressed to the nines and sipping elaborate cocktails with their dates. Draco coming as my date was his idea, but I’ve still spent the last two days waiting for him to change his mind. Yet here he is in his dress robes and jet-black masquerade mask, about to walk into a party full of reporters.

I didn’t even bring the party up, not wanting to make it into a big deal. But he saw my dress hanging in a garment bag from the back of my bedroom door when we were eating dinner one night, and it started the conversation. He actually seemed a little hurt when I told him. It wasn’t that I was intentionally keeping it from him, I just never imagined that he would have any desire to go. Not to mention everything was so recent. We had been spending time together for a few weeks or so at that point, but we hadn’t put a label on anything. Some days it seemed like Draco was starting to open up and enjoy himself for a change, and the next he would be right back to square one. It was far from perfect, but overall we enjoyed being around each other and I didn’t want to risk ruining it over a silly thing like a party.

“Isn’t it a pretty big deal?” Draco had asked me as I focused my attention on stirring my soup over and over again. 

I shrugged. “I mean yeah, kind of,” I answered, still trying not to make it into a big deal. He was right though. At some point the Prophet’s annual Halloween party began as simply that, an office party. But as years went on, it became more and more elaborate until it transformed into a full blown spectacle. The location, the décor, the guest list. In addition to all of the employees at the Prophet, several invitations went out to a select group of ministry officials, quidditch players, authors, and anyone well known enough to merit an invite. The event’s committee had been pining after the Potters for years, only to get turned down every time. Apparently the Malfoys aren’t the only wizarding family who prefer to remain out of the spotlight.

“Were you planning on going alone?” he asked. I could hear that he was trying to keep his tone casual, but it wasn’t working very well.

“Well I did it last year and it didn’t kill me,” I told him. “I don’t have to stay long, if you had something else in mind.”

“Well if you’re interested in having company I could tag along,” he suggested. I looked up from my soup at this point, shocked.

“Really?” I asked flatly; incredulously. 

He shrugged this time. “You’re right, it wouldn’t hurt me to get out more.”

“No but it does seem like a pretty big jump,” I said cautiously.

“Well if you don’t want me to go that’s okay too,” he said, returning his attention to his food.

“No no!” I say. “I’d love it, really.”

He smiled at me. “Well then it’s a date.”

I felt myself blush a little before continuing on. “And I mean it is a masquerade,” I offered. “If no one’s expecting you to be there they might not even notice, especially once they’ve had enough to drink.”

Now here we were, entering the shark tank. I look up at Draco after I ask him for some final reassurance. “I’m here aren’t I?” he asks, smirking. I smile up at him as we step through the door into the huge manor. My breath catches as I take in the scene. Jack-o-lanterns cover almost every surface and float throughout the air. Giant purple flowers and candle sticks are mixed in with the jack-o-lanterns, helping to illuminate the scene. The same décor continues as we walk through the entry hall, following the sound of music into a huge ballroom with high ceilings. 

One corner of the ballroom contains a stage with a six-piece band playing music that has numerous party guests twirling around on the dancefloor. Around the edge of the room are various stations set up with cocktails and food, and all around the room people are sipping their elaborate beverages and talking and laughing with one another. I feel Draco tense up as he scans the room. I squeeze his arm encouragingly. “We can leave if you get uncomfortable,” I reassure him. 

“Coralie!”

I turn to see my coworker Fiona coming towards us, dressed in a slinky navy floor length dress that shimmers iridescently with every step, paired with a gold mask. As she approaches I can see several men following her with their eyes as they sip their cocktails, earning several disapproving looks from their own dates. I glance quickly back to Draco. “You say hi,” he says, smiling slightly. “I’ll go get us some drinks.”

I watch him walk towards one of the cocktail stations as Fiona reaches me, giving me a quick hug. “Fiona you look amazing!” I say. 

She takes a step back and gestures to my own ensemble, a strapless black number with a skirt that puffs out slightly, beginning short in the front but falling to the floor behind me. “So do you!” she says. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a date?” she asks, her eyes glinting with excitement.

I shrug, “It was a bit last minute,” I tell her nonchalantly. I watch her look over to where Draco stands, ordering our drinks from a bartender who looks like he might have had a few himself.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better I would think that he was Draco Malfoy!”

_Fuck all, that was quick._

I’m not sure how I was stupid enough to think that a mask would somehow throw everyone off. I guess I just wanted to believe it. I feel myself tense, my mouth open slightly as I try to figure out how to respond. Fiona is the closest thing I have to a friend at work, and her reaction doesn’t bode well for the rest of the evening. My pause is all the confirmation she needs.

“Wait, that _is_ Draco Malfoy?” she asks in a hushed tone. “The _deatheater?”_

I feel myself bristle under her tone of shock. “He’s not a deatheater,” I say defensively. 

“Coralie-“

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” I say, cutting her off. “And besides, he’s changed since then. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

I see her process what I’ve just said. “Alright, fair enough. I’ll take your word for it,” she says, taking a sip from her dark purple martini. Then she glances quickly around the room. “Good luck keeping it from Rita though, you know she’s going to lose her mind when she finds out.”

I groan. _Rita._ I hadn’t even thought about that. “I don’t know why,” I say. “Isn’t it time to just move on?”

Fiona rolls her eyes. “Come on, you know the entire Prophet would read like a tabloid if she had her way.”

“Wait, you mean she doesn’t have her way on almost everything?”

“That’s true,” Fiona laughs as Draco returns with our drinks. He hands me one of the dark purple martinis that Fiona is drinking.

“Draco, this is Fiona,” I say, making introductions. “She writes the fashion column.”

I breathe a sigh of relief when she smiles and reaches out to shake his hand. “Its nice to meet you,” she says. 

“Its nice to meet you as well,” he responds. I take a large sip from my glass; its sweet but undoubtedly strong. 

“Well I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone now!” she says. “See you later!”

As she leaves I make a mental note to kick her for that comment later, but then determine that that’s probably the most approval we’re going to get all night.

As we proceed further into the room, I begin to notice way more attention focused in our direction than I would normally receive. I see a wave of curious whispers start to make their way through the crowd. Murphy from editing talks to Janelle from advertising, their curious eyes watching us, glittering in the glow of fresh gossip. Janelle talks to Vulcana, the intern. I see Roisin from distribution talk to a group that I don’t even recognize. I feel the relief that I felt after talking to Fiona fade, unease settling in the pit of my stomach. This was a bad idea. I can’t even imagine how Draco feels, with the eyes of some of the most prominent members of the wizarding world focused on us in this moment.

I down the rest of my drink in a way that I know will go to my head in a few minutes. “Draco do you want to step outside for a minute? Get some fresh air?”

“Sounds good to me,” he says, leading me out to a balcony overlooking the extensive grounds. The night is full of stars, and a full moon casts a wash over the garden directly below us. But there’s still several people nearby, enjoying the night air on the balcony. I abandon my empty glass as I take Draco’s hand and pull him to a staircase that leads from the side, down to the expansive garden. I walk to an area that’s dominated by perfectly manicured trees that cast enough of a shadow to provide the privacy I’ve been seeking. I look up at him, his silver hair glistening in the moonlight.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize as we walk. “I know its awkward.”

_Awkward._ Doesn’t even begin to describe it.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I expected it. I just…”

As he trails off, I notice his jaw is tensed and he’s focused his gaze to the distance. I stop walking, pulling us between two of the trees where I’m sure no one can see us. In our silence we can hear the laughter and music of the party that we’ve just left, but somehow feels so far away in this moment. “What is it Draco?” I ask softly. He glances at me quickly before returning his focus somewhere above my head. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I suppose its that I’m used to people judging me. _Hating me._ And I know that I deserve it. But seeing how they’re judging you just for being here with me… I hate that I’ve pulled you into that-”

“You haven’t pulled me into anything,” I say, cutting him off, emotion welling in my voice. I wrap my arms around his waist, forcing him to face me. “Draco, I’m just happy that you’re here with me. I don’t give a damn what any of them think.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asks, his voice thick. 

“Of course,” I say.

He nods. “I’m happy to be with you too. And I don’t just mean at this party.”

I feel my stomach flip and my heart swell to hear him say that. An entirely embarrassing smile spreads across my face as he gently uses his hand to tip my chin upwards and kiss me. “Also,” he mumbles in between kisses. “I would have hated to miss seeing you in that dress.” 

“Oh is that so?” I say before I bite his lip playfully. I hear the smallest moan escape his mouth. He nods. “Well how about we head back in there and show them all that you are in fact with me?” I suggest as the kisses slow. Our foreheads are pressed together, our arms wrapped around each other.

“In a minute,” he says, stroking my cheek with his thumb. This is hardly our first kiss, but my heart is hammering so hard in my chest I’m sure he must hear it. We stay this way for awhile, just enjoying our brief reprieve from the pressure of the party. But admittedly, I do feel much more prepared to handle it now. 

“Okay, let’s go,” he agrees once we’ve gotten to enjoy our moment just a little longer. We return to the party, making a stop by the drink station our first priority. 

Lucky we did, because no sooner than we’ve had our first sips, Rita Skeeter is advancing towards us with the intensity of a wild beast going in for the kill. Draco’s hand slips around my waist and pulls me close to him, and I raise my chin just enough to provide myself with a false sense of confidence.

“Well if it isn’t Draco Malfoy!” she halfway croons as she reaches us. She pats him on the cheek in what she must mean to be an affectionate way, but just comes across as pushy and demeaning. “Long time no see!”

To Draco’s ever-lasting credit, he accepts her greeting but never loosens his hold on my hip. I glance over her shoulder and see Fiona, who’s turned her attention to us like she sensed my panic from afar. She walks over and joins our group in an attempt to ease the tension. “Oh hello Rita! You look absolutely stunning! Where did you get that dress, surely none of the usual boutiques!” she gushes.

“Yes hello, dear,” Rita responds off-handedly, not to be distracted from her target. Fiona’s eyebrows raise as she looks at me, partially due to the insult and partially because she can see how completely screwed we are. 

“You’ve got to fill me in on what you’ve been up to! What’s it like in a day in the life of the infamous Draco Malfoy?” she asks him. I feel something ignite inside me. 

“Oh well how do I know this is off the record?” Draco says, trying to force it to come across as a joke. His grip on my waist is getting tighter and tighter.

Rita laughs like he’s just said the funniest thing in the world. “Oh come now Draco, you and I are old friends!” she banters. Now she turns her attention to me. “Bravo on getting him out of hiding! You’ve really got quite the catch!”

I plaster on a smile that’s got to be so fake that anyone but Rita must see it. But I know how to play her. “Oh don’t I know it!” I say, formulating a plan to get her off our case, or at the very least Draco’s. “He is just incredible, Rita you just have no idea!”

“Well you just have to tell me all about it!” she says.

“I’d love to! Why don’t we have a little girl talk?” I ask, taking a step away from Draco and gesturing toward the balcony. Then I made a point of stumbling visibly on my heels for the first time all night. 

My dark cocktail sloshes straight out of the martini glass and down the front of Rita’s burnt orange dress. Clumsy me.

I hear her shriek at the same time that Fiona snorts in a feeble attempt to cover her laughter. “Oh my goodness, Rita!” I exclaim! “I am so sorry! I can’t believe I’m so clumsy, these shoes are just going to be the death of me! I happen to know the most helpful spell-“

“That’s alright!” she says abruptly, cutting me off. She stands completely still with her arms extended stiffly at her sides, her eyes shut trying to regain composure. She opens them slowly and forces a grimace of a smile onto her face. “I’ll take care of it myself. You enjoy your night.”

I feel a sinister smirk spread across my lips as she hurries away.

“Oh my God!” Violet exclaims. “That was bloody brilliant! You’re my new hero!”

I shrug. “Well it didn’t seem I was going to have too many options.”

I turn to Draco, who seems to be completely stunned. “Care to dance?”

\---

“I still can not believe you did that,” Draco says, shaking his head like he’s still trying to process it, a bemused smile on his face as he fills two glasses of water for us. 

We’ve just arrived back in his apartment after the party. We didn’t stay too much longer after my little stunt with Rita. We danced for a few songs, feeling everyone’s eyes on us as I basked in my victory and Draco looked at me with admiration and that same brand of disbelief that’s still on his face now. It’s entirely possible that this look is what made me suddenly decide to leave the party. After all of the initial excitement had calmed down, I was ready to go home and be with only him.

“Seriously, aren’t you at all worried about getting in trouble for that?” he asks. 

I shrug as I lean back against the counter, taking a quick swig of water. “Not particularly, no. She’s not my boss. She’s a bit of a tyrant and a pest but she doesn’t technically have any power over me. And anyways,” I say, pausing conspiratorially. “It was a total accident.”

I wink at him as he approaches me, placing his hands on my hips. He’s removed his outer layers, now sporting a more devil-may-care look with his bowtie untied and falling down the front of his shoulders. “Well regardless, I am amazed that you would do something that ballsy for me,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” I emphasize. “She doesn’t scare me.”

Something flashes in his eyes as he leans forwards to kiss me. The kiss is firm, passionate. There’s a want there that summons up my own desires. I clumsily set my glass of water down before it becomes the second drink I spill tonight. I run my hands up his arms and wrap my arms around his neck as he does the same to my waist, pulling me closer and deepening the kiss. He licks briefly at my bottom lip, causing me to open my mouth to allow him access. I feel absolutely giddy as our kisses grow more and more heated, and I’m hyper aware of every place that his body touches mine. We’ve been taking things fairly slow. We hadn’t spent the night together since that first time, and while you had done plenty of kissing it had never progressed into anything. And the kisses were never this… urgent. Suddenly he breaks the kiss and leans backward to look at me carefully, his brows furrowed. He licks his lips subconsciously and all I want is to feel them again. But I can sense something holding him back.

“What is it, Draco? What’s wrong?” I ask concerned, my fingers stroking lightly at the back of his neck. His eyes are intent on mine, and I can see the conflict swimming in them. The blatant want mixed with some kind of insecurity that I wish I could just shake out of him.

He smiles a bit, a little sad. “Nothing. I’m just… taking it in I guess. Making sure its real.”

I say nothing, knowing that there’s more. I give him the moment he needs to say it. When he does, its only slightly above a whisper. “Coralie, I don’t deserve you.”  
I feel something painful twist inside me. I hate to hear how broken he sounds. I feel tears beginning to form in my eyes and I will them not to fall. “Draco, please. I need you to stop saying that,” I plead. “You deserve me. You deserve this.”

I press a firm kiss to his neck and pull back to continue eye contact. “You deserve this,” I say again for emphasis, encompassing a million different meanings in that one statement. “So take it.”

He takes a deep breath and nods a little, but enthusiastically. I see the look in his eyes change from conflict to a deep, all-encompassing hunger. He adjusts his grip on my waist and I gasp as he hoists me up onto the counter. I allow my legs to open just enough for him to position himself between them, pressing his mouth to mine once more. I moan a little as his tongue dances with mine, and it seems to wake him up. Leaving one hand on my waist, he moves the other to my cheek, tilting my head up to plant kisses along my jaw, down my neck, and in an excruciating trail across my clavicle to my shoulder. I reach down to grab through his pants at the bulge that’s grown there. I feel his breath catch as I make contact, causing me to smirk a little. I stroke at the spot until he pulls me down from the counter. “Let’s get you out of that dress then, huh love?” he asks hotly against my mouth. I nod in excited agreement, suddenly desperate to feel his skin on mine.

He reaches behind me to release the clasp at the top of my dress and unzip the rest of the way down. I feel a satisfying coolness as the dress falls, pooling at my feet leaving me standing in front of him in a black satin bustier and lacy black panties. I hear his breath catch as he takes it in. I catch myself smirking again. 

“Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to take me to the bed?”


End file.
